


Polite Conversation

by Gorillazgal86, improfem



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale is a bastard, Biting, Car Sex, Crowley has a vulva, Dirty Talk, Food Porn, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Light D/s, M/M, Other, Podfic Welcome, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex in the Bentley, Spanking, Teasing, Terrible Innuendo, Top Aziraphale, Transformative Works Welcome, Undernegotiated Kink, aziraphale has a penis, bottom Crowley, no foodplay though, safeword
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2020-10-13 12:03:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20582189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gorillazgal86/pseuds/Gorillazgal86, https://archiveofourown.org/users/improfem/pseuds/improfem
Summary: Two things are absolutely true: Crowley loves making himself a minor-to-severe nuisance to his surroundings, and he loves his angel. So making extremely suggestive conversation in public seems like a perfect way to spend a boring afternoon. (Un)fortunately for him, these things are also true: Aziraphale can out-bastard Crowley any day, and his schemes always, always come back to haunt him.





	1. Aziraphale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gorillazgal86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gorillazgal86/gifts).

> Whelp, this is a two-parter that was supposed to go up as one, but apparently I missed someone's birthday, so until I can actually finish this, have an extended preview!
> 
> I wish I had a better explanation for this than 'someone mentioned the term polite conversation and my mind immediatelly went to porn', but I really don't. 
> 
> Rating will inevitably change for Ch. 2, because apparently that's what my writing is now. ;-)

It was a perfectly lovely Saturday afternoon. Slightly overcast, but crisp spring weather outside and a steady, but not too distracting, or – God forbid – lucrative stream of customers inside the bookshop. So peaceful had the day been thus far, that perhaps Aziraphale should have known Crowley was up to something the second he stalked into the store, looking painfully bored.

He did have a sixth sense for trouble after all. Specifically, the kind of trouble that might require just a little bit of demonic intervention to be set into motion.

However, in the process of both thoroughly entertaining and absolutely deterring an earlier customer – a middle-aged woman who had asked about works on the local queer communities of the late 18th century – Aziraphale had remembered a long-misplaced set of diaries, which he was now in the process of locating.

Thus preoccupied, he did not stop to consider the implications when his husband breezed in and draped himself over the counter like a particularly dramatic weather phenomenon.

“Hello dear,” he merely said, and disappeared between the next set of shelves with an absent-minded kiss. Crowley was not pleased.

“Aziraphale…” he practically whined, voice just slightly too loud to be counted appropriate for a bookshop, which promptly earned him a consternated look from the elderly gentleman who had been browsing the music section for the past half-hour. “I need your help.”

“Of course, dear, what is it?” Aziraphale asked absent-mindedly, blowing dust off an unmarked book he had just located behind some cookbooks from the 1970s. “Mind your volume, please, we wouldn’t want to disturb my customer.”

Truth be told, Aziraphale was not trying particularly hard himself. The fellow had begun to annoy him around the time he’d very pointedly asked why it was that Aziraphale’s musical collection seemed to be missing The Sound of Music. Still. He had a reputation to uphold.

A quick scan of the notebook in his hands revealed it was an old collection of recipes, fascinating, surely, but not what he’d been looking for.

“It’s about the… project we discussed last night,” Crowley continued. If he was being honest, Aziraphale had no idea what project this could be – the night before, he’d been rather preoccupied by the excellent takeout dinner they had had, and the equally excellent lovemaking that had followed.

“Hm…” he prompted vaguely, hoping it wasn’t too obvious where his mind had gone. “What about it?”

It didn’t help that when Aziraphale turned around, Crowley was still sprawled next to the register, propped up on his elbows and hips outstretched in a rather suggestive pose.

_Oh, good Lord. _

He turned away quickly, but not quickly enough to miss the wink the demon had thrown his way.

„It’s just taking so much _effort_.”

Oh, so this was where this was going. Aziraphale continued to rummage through the shelves and made sure that his smile had been effectively rearranged into a neutral expression before responding.

“Well, dear, you know that sometimes it just takes a little hard work. I’m sure the payoff will be worth it. “

Out of the corner of his eye, he stole a glance at Crowley, while dusting off a stack of paperbound notebooks in a cardboard box. The demon was practically writhing on the counter now, and looked extremely pleased with himself.

“Come on, angel. You know hard work is more _your_ area of expertise. I’m alright at the hands-on stuff, but I could really use your _input_ right about now.”

Aziraphale had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. The customer had apparently given up on his pretence of ignoring them, and shot Crowley another reproachful look. He looked like he wanted to say something, probably beginning with a stern ‘young man’, but apparently decided that however obvious the innuendo, he couldn’t possibly let on that he’d overheard.

In spite of his amusement, Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for the man. Then again. Maybe it would stop him from asking more insipid questions.

“I see.” He leafed through the booklets before him, one by one, still coming up empty. “Remind me again what your project was about, dear?”

Crowley, clearly, had not been expecting this. Whether he truly believed himself to be suave and subtle, or had simply decided that Aziraphale was playing along, he’d obviously not bothered to put in the effort of concocting a backstory to his claim. In spite of himself, Aziraphale felt a little tingle as he wondered whether any other kind of effort had gone into preparing for this little show. Or had Crowley simply decided on a whim that as long as he was being a nuisance, he might as well get a thrill out of it? Both seemed like equally enticing options, if he was being honest.

“Uh… nnnnn… You know.” Crowley shot him a floundering look. “The. The thing. The thing that I told you about yesterday.”

_Oh please. Clearly, you need a bit of an education in how to keep your wits about you, dear,_ Aziraphale thought, holding back another smile.

“I have to confess, I’ve quite forgotten about it. Apologies, my darling.”

Crowley had stood up and buried his hands in his pockets, now, looking more sheepish than anything else, and clearly trying to regain some ground.

“My… transport initiative,” he tried, weakly.

Quite easily flustered for someone in the tempting profession, but then, that wasn’t anything new to Aziraphale, per se. He put the box back on its shelf and turned around, smiling brilliantly for the first time as an idea occurred to him.

“Tell you what, dear, why don’t we go to dinner tonight, and you can tell me all about it. Can you pick me up at eight? I really have to finish up some things around here before that.”


	2. Crowley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No fanfic is ever completely lost with the help of good friends. :-) Took a while to get there, but now there’s finally a part two!

“Come on dear, open up.” Despite not yet having touched any of the food before them, Crowley choked. Aziraphale’s hand was swiftly in front of his mouth, offering up one of the little dumplings he’d enjoyed as an appetiser. “I promise you’ll enjoy it… very dense and savoury, just divine.”

Still in the process of putting together a reply, Crowley opened his lips, which encouraged Aziraphale enough to pop the dumping straight into the gap between Crowley’s lips, his fingertips just brushing across them.

“There you go. No, you’ll have to take it all, or it’ll just spill everywhere.”

_ Fuck. _

He felt the thin, slightly sticky dough slide across his tongue and consciously avoided looking at Aziraphale while he chewed, and swallowed, and – was this what it was like being Aziraphale in a restaurant? No wonder the angel always made such indecent noises whenever he enjoyed a meal. Crowley had certainly had his fair share of well-prepared dishes – it would have been hard to share millennia worth of fine dining with Aziraphale otherwise – but they never, usually, sent such a  _ thrill _ through his entire body.

Not unless they were accompanied by such positively suggestive language from his angel. Surely, this wasn’t a coincidence?

Judging by Aziraphale’s reaction in the afternoon, Crowley had assumed that either semi-public dirty talk was just not the angel’s cup of tea, or his perpetually old-fashioned mind had simply not caught on to the innuendo. He’d done his best to convince himself it had to be the second, after all, the thought of miscommunication was decidedly less humiliating than being so pointedly rejected. Not that he’d ever force anything on the angel, especially sexually – but, it was considerably nicer to think that, if he’d been turned down, at least he’d be the only one to ever know.

However. Aziraphale certainly seemed especially  _ chatty _ about his food today.

By now, he’d moved on from the dumplings – at least for the time being – and was inhaling the aroma of some fried crab balls with what could only be described as radiant gusto.

“Oh, and look at this. What a delicious little treat. Can’t wait to sink my teeth into you.”

Satan, have mercy. Purposefully done or not, Crowley could feel a definite answering twitch between his legs, and hurriedly grabbed his wine glass, just to have something, anything to look at. Something other than the tip of Aziraphale’s tongue, licking grease off his lips. The appetisers had come with some sort of dipping sauce, and some of it clung, pinkish-glistening, to the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth. He leaned over to Crowley’s side of the table, apparently reaching for the soy sauce, seemed to notice half-way through and brought out his tongue again, gaze uncomfortably close and fixed on the demon, who suddenly felt heat rising in his collar.

“Well, dear? You said you wanted my opinion on something. My apologies, I was so preoccupied this afternoon. But now you have my undivided attention. Do tell me what it was about.”

Well, so much for that, then. Crowley breathed an internal sigh of relief. At least Aziraphale hadn’t noticed and been too uncomfortable to even outright say no. How someone who had frequented all manner of queer establishments over the centuries could be so oblivious to thinly veiled sexual propositions was beyond him, but at least it would spare him some humiliation. 

He briefly considered explaining what the afternoon had  _ actually _ been about. However, between waiters rushing back and forth, and the tables in this small establishment placing the other diners considerably closer than, say, at their usual table at the Ritz, being overheard was not just an excellent possibility, but practically a given. And while Crowley certainly had no qualms about bystanders being the accidental recipients of a bit of extra demonic temptation – he didn’t relish the thought of Aziraphale being embarrassed in front of strangers. Or, worse, uncomfortable and disgusted.

So, he forced himself to sit up a little straighter, ignored the moisture pooling between his thighs, and did his best to bullshit his way through an explanation. After all, you didn’t get centuries’ worth of infernal commendations without some experience of spinning the truth to your advantage. Before he knew it, his mouth went off on its own, weaving a surprisingly convincing story about a tattoo studio a few streets down from the bookshop, where Crowley had recently spotted a sickening amount of customers with brand new, nazi glorifying ink. If he’d gone the extra mile and ensured a construction site opened up just in front of the establishment, making it virtually impossible to access - surely, that was only an efficient use of his demonic mischief. 

“I see,” Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully when Crowley’s hurriedly slapped-together monologue finally ran out. “Well, it sounds to me like you are already doing a marvellous job. But you did mention wanting my  _ input  _ on something.”

He smiled sweetly and Crowley couldn’t help but cringe a little at hearing his own words repeated back at him so innocently.

“Why don’t you tell me what is giving you a hard time so we can – oh, thank you,” Aziraphale paused to flash a brilliant smile at the young man refilling their wine glasses, before returning his gaze to Crowley. “So we can identify the spot that’s bothering you and give it our full attention.”

_ I know a spot or two that could use your full attention. _

“N-ygk-ah, uhm, just. Seems. Selective? Bit small scale, for my taste?” he sputtered, and thanked his infernal luck for just a moment, before he caught the wicked glint in Aziraphale’s eyes.

“I see.” The angel had leaned back in his chair, and was contentedly slurping a rice noodle salad, the long thin noodles disappearing rapidly past his pursed lips as he sucked them in. He lowered the dish, resting the porcelain bowl against the enticing curve of his stomach while he fixed his eyes on Crowley. “You want more? Funny, you know, how you always tease me about being insatiable. When you just can’t resist a little more punishment when the opportunity presents itself.”

At this moment, their main courses arrived, though Crowley’s brain was far too busy grappling with the implications of what his husband had been saying to remember – or indeed, register – what he’d ordered. Aziraphale, predictably, had no such problems. He glanced down to the orange glazed duck on his plate with rapt attention, a low satisfied breath escaping his throat and ran his knife along the edge of one glistening, pink slice as though not quite sure where to start.

“Oh this duck tonight looks postively decadent, perfectly succulent and moist. My apologies, dear, we might be in for a long night… I don’t believe I’ll have my fill any time soon.”

He cut off a bite and took a first taste, accompanied by a characteristically melting sigh, then turned his attention back to Crowley. 

  
“Well, if you’re really that eager to continue this, you could always make sure to keep things  _ tied _ up a little longer. Really drive home the effects of what you’ve set up already.”

With sudden, horrifying and arousing clarity, Crowley flashed back to an afternoon just a few weeks ago, and a mumbled confession as they lay entwined on Aziraphale’s couch after a particularly soft round of lovemaking.    
  
_ Wouldn’t mind if you tried keeping me tied up some time… and you haven’t forgotten, have you, you bastard? _

Crowley swallowed hard as the memory played across his mind: basking in their afterglow and his quiet, almost shy request that Azirpahale be a bit . . . well, be a bit firmer with him. If he’d been fully honest with Aziraphale at the time,  _ a lot  _ firmer would be even better. Aziraphale couldn’t possibly have just incorporated that into a flimsy conversation around his current job . . . could he?   
  


He quickly scrambled his thoughts back together, fumbling to find a suitable response while Azriaphale looked at him with guileless eyes, like butter wouldn’t melt. Another plump, blush-pink morsel of meat slid past Aziraphale’s lips as he waited patiently for Crowley’s reply, his eyes fluttering closed just a moment as he savoured the bite, his eyelashes just dancing across his cheeks.    
  
“Um, yeah. Suppose that could work,” Crowley wheezed out.   
  
Aziraphale chewed thoughtfully and tilted his head at Crowley, like there was still something he didn’t understand and was trying to piece together.    
  
“I’m not exactly sure where you needed my contribution to come to that conclusion though dear? You seemed so urgent and desperate this afternoon, are you sure there isn’t something else on your mind?” Aziraphale asked idly, his tongue winding around the fork tines, cleaning off every molecule of orange sauce before plunging his fork back into the duck for another bite.    
  
Crowley shifted uncomfortably, the seam of his too-tight trousers pressing against his increasingly demanding clit. It was hardly the time or place to be this aroused, but with every bite and every honeyed sigh, Azriaphale was winding Crowley like a clock.

This was a disaster. He should have already been in a sweaty heap with Aziraphale by now, hours ago in fact, and instead he was doing his very best to hold his thinning resolve together as Aziraphale’s tongue and lips continued to give the attention he wanted to so badly to the damn duck.    
  


Out of sheer desperation, he turned his attention to his own food, while mumbling something noncommittal and combing his brain for a comment, a question, anything, that would hopefully redirect Aziraphale’s attention. The longer this dragged out, the less he relished the thought of Aziraphale finally catching on. If he was in fact still in the dark about the devastating effect he was having on Crowley. How humiliating, in that case, to be caught ready to dry hump a table leg, when all Aziraphale had done was chat about his food and show interest in Crowley’s work. He hardly dared imagine the look of confusion and, yes, well, delight, that was bound to play across Aziraphale’s features if he knew what was going on in Crowley’s pants right now.    
  
“Oh dear, look at that, you’re dripping.” 

He could have sworn there was a decidedly unangelic edge to Aziraphale’s voice, but when Crowley snapped back into the present, Aziraphale was gently dabbing at his chin with a cloth napkin, and his husband looked at him with gentle, innocent concern in his eyes. 

“You seem distracted, darling, is the soup not to your liking? We could always order you some dessert, I know how you love sweet treats. They have the most delicious ice cream mochi here, homemade I believe. Delicate, velvety soft skin, pounded hard until it’s exactly the right, sticky consistency, flooded with silky, perfectly sweet cream. It just invites you to sink your teeth in.”

Crowley swallowed hard, and put his spoon down with an audible clink.    
  


“Nope. No mochi. We’re leaving. Right now.”

Without looking back at Aziraphale, he stood up, drained the last of his wine in a single gulp, and stalked off to settle their bill. 

  
Aziraphale looked indignant and glowed with angelic outrage when Crowley returned, half of his meal still uneaten on his plate, his eyes flashing between Crowley, red-faced and flustered, and his plate.    
  
“What on Earth has got into you? I’m still eating this and it’s very nice! We are not leaving!” Aziraphale protested, gesturing his hands towards the remains of his duck, his lips glistening infuriatingly with the orange glaze.    
  
“Something’s come up. We gotta go,” Crowley said curtly and reached for Aziraphale’s hand to tug him away from the table.    
  
Aziraphale shot him a look that equally terrified and aroused Crowley. It was stony and serious with an unmistakable edge of danger.    
  
“You’re making a scene,” Aziraphale warned, but stood on his own volition and grabbed Crowley’s hand, squeezing hard. There was no playfulness in the gesture and Crowley withered under the combined weight of Aziraphale’s firm tone of voice and even firmer grip on his hand.    
  


Azriaphale cast an apologetic look to the waiter and placed a significant tip on the table before pulling Crowley close to him and striding them out of the restaurant to the Bentley. Once they got to the car, Crowley felt the familiar shimmer of a miracle before Aziraphale pinned him against the Bentley. He could only hope that the angel had just ensured that even as people bustled past them on the busy street, they would go unnoticed. Crowley whimpered as Azirpahale’s hips pinned him to his car, the frosty expression still painted across Aziraphale’s ordinarily soft features. It was undignified in how much this turned him on.    
  
“What exactly do you think you’re playing at? That was humiliating, right in the middle of dinner, you storm out of there like the place is on fire!” Aziraphale scolded, never raising his voice, but his tone made it clear he was not impressed with Crowley’s display back in the restaurant.    
  
Crowley squirmed against Aziraphale’s hips, nearly rutting against him, their close proximity only fanning the flames of the heat rising rapidly inside him. His mouth flapped uselessly as Aziraphale’s ice-blue eyes bored into him. He stuttered out some incoherent syllables which only managed to sound more like needy groans then protests.    
  
“I expect an answer, Crowley,” Aziraphale said and there was enough warning in his voice to confirm that Crowley was not going to get a second opportunity to respond. 

And Crowley whined. The angel had no business being this erotic when he was upset.    
  
“I . . .” Crowley managed weakly, all the blood meant to be powering his brain having quite defected to other areas of his anatomy. His pathetic utterances only seemed to incense Aziraphale further and a flash of fury crossed the angel’s face before he seemed to remember himself and smoothed out his features into something altogether cooler and more controlled.    
  
“I have a right mind to bend you over this car and spank you like the insolent child you just behaved like,” Aziraphale growled and Crowley’s knees buckled.

His treacherous tongue sped straight past his brain and the words spilled out too easily.

“Yes, please!” 

Crowley’s eyes widened and his hands flew to his mouth, trying to dam whatever else may pour out without his permission. 

Aziraphale, however, seemed satisfied for the first time since Crowley had made his snap decision in the restaurant, and his mouth pulled up into a smile, though the rest of his features remained just as stern and unforgiving as before.    
  
“I see. So that’s it, isn’t it? Your needy, impertinent nature finally took over and you’re ready to admit what you really need, instead of making a pest of yourself in the middle of my workday.”    
  
Crowley was still wearing his sunglasses, but he was certain Aziraphale would not miss the look of fascinated horror on his face. The angel seized both of his wrists in one hand and spun him around, before maneuvering him to the bonnet of the car and placing one hand against his shoulders to bend him over.    
  
“Did you really think you could pull this little stunt without me noticing? Oh, I know. I know exactly what you wanted. But when I didn’t respond, you fooled yourself into thinking I didn’t understand, isn’t that right? Old-fashioned Aziraphale, too much of a relic to keep up with modern language and too angelic to pick up on obvious innuendo.” 

Crowley whimpered, but didn’t respond, certain that any justification on his part could only make things worse. Instead, he grappled for something to hold on to, finding no purchase against the smooth curves of the Bentley and finally resigning to folding his arms on the bonnet of the car and tucking his face between them. At the very least, he wouldn’t have to see if somebody walked by. Oh, he hoped nobody could see this - except for the tiny part of him that rather hoped they could.    
  


“Now, I really should give you a safe word, so you can yell for me to stop to your heart’s content. But I don’t think that will be necessary, will it? Because you don’t want me to stop, you greedy little trollop. I’ve got you right where you wanted to be, and you’re positively dripping for some discipline.” 

He smoothed his hand over Crowley’s arse, measuring his canvas. 

“So if it really does get too much, you’ll tell me to stop. If I hear you say stop, I will, immediately. But until then, I don’t think you’ll be tempted to use that word, will you?”

Crowley shook his head, then realised Aziraphale might not be able to read the gesture from where he was standing, and raised his head just slightly, so the words could escape into the cold night air.    
  
“No… I won’t, please, Angel, let me have it. I want whatever you can give me… been on edge all day. Need you so bad.”

With a satisfied little huff, Aziraphale pulled back a fraction of a step, and reinforced the pressure of his hand between Crowley’s shoulder blades.    
  
“Well, then. You shall have what you deserve.”

In a deft movement, Aziraphale bent over Crowley, his hands finding the button to his trousers and undoing it effortlessly and pulling the zipper down. Crowley gasped and squirmed. Azirpahale couldn’t possibly, miracle or no, this was still a busy street, what if the miracle he felt hadn’t actually been a cloaking one and all of London’s Chinatown could see exactly what was happening here? Crowley twisted to peer over his shoulder and gave a pleading look to Aziraphale.

“You can’t, not here!” He protested and even from his pinned position, he could see the wicked glint in Aziraphale’s eyes and his lips turning up into a satisfied smirk.

“I can’t what, Crowley? I am quite certain I can and I will,” Aziraphale said and with one hand, yanked his trousers to his knees, exposing Crowley’s arse and damp cunt to the night air. Crowley let out a hiss, squirming under Aziraphale, feeling desperately exposed, burying his hands into his face to avoid the scene of people walking right past them, trying to buy himself some privacy he wasn’t entirely sure he had.    
  
The icy air on his skin only seemed to make it worse, a fresh rush of arousal fluid leaking out of his cunt and down his thighs, earning a plesaed hum from Aziraphale.    
  
“I haven’t even touched you yet, and look at the state of you, positively leaking, you filthy, wicked creature,” Aziraphale purred and Crowley had to bite onto his arm to muffle the groan bubbling from his throat. 

Crowley’s breath stopped as Aziraphale’s fingers trailed up the back of his thighs. Of course Aziraphale was going to tease him, to make him giddy with anticipation as he waited for the first blow across his buttocks. In spite of himself, his hips pressed backwards, egging Aziraphale on shamelessly. That must have done the trick, because Aziraphale’s fingers left his ass and with a  _ whoosh _ cutting through the air, his broad palm landed in a hard smack to the curve of Crowley’s arse and he let out a cry laden with pain and desire.    
  
“You really think I would miss the chance to watch that perfect ass of yours turn pink and hot under my hand? And that I wouldn’t want to show all of London what a naughty, ill-mannered creature you are?” Aziraphale said, that firm tone still there, but now laced with his own vindication at being able to repay Crowley with the same level of humiliation he’d caused to Aziraphale in the restaurant. 

Crowley’s arse sang with the heat left by Aziraphale’s hand, his cries just softened by his arm where his teeth had dug in. Another slap rang out across his skin and he moaned hungrily. He was vulnerable, exposed and getting spanked over the bonnet of his own car in the middle of a busy, public street and frankly, he’d never been more aroused. 

“Aziraphale! I’m sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you, I’m so sorry, please!” Crowley begged and hiccuped, not feeling sorry in the slightest.

_ Smack! _

“You mean nothing of the sort, you’ve been gasping for my attention all day. Aren’t you glad you've got it? Look around you Crowley, stop hiding your face, show all of London what a horny, needy little thing you are,” Aziraphale commanded and Crowley whimpered, cracking one eye tentatively open. He could have sworn a man walking past caught his eye for a brief second and his insides turned to goo. 

Aziraphale landed a third slap across his cheeks and he’d be damned again if his cunt didn’t respond entirely too enthusiastically at this, sending another wet gush down his thighs. The skin of his ass was inflamed and prickled hotly from the smacks, the cold air only stoking the flames, giving no respite from the abuse his arse was taking at the moment. Crowley watched as the denizens of London walked easily past them as he sobbed and cried against Aziraphale’s relentless assault, his arse now surely beaming brightly in the neon lights of the shops around them. 

After a good ten or fifteen slaps, Crowley had lost count, Aziraphale stepped back, casually shaking his hand as though he wasn’t working on ridiculously overpowered, angelic strength. As though he really might need a moment to catch his breath, and didn’t just want to admire his handiwork, which Crowley could feel written all over himself. 

“Tell me, then.” 

His voice was calm and almost curious, and collected to an absolutely unfair degree. Crowley, meanwhile, was a gasping mess, spit and drool pooling on the Bentley. He wished he could at least turn around, inspect Aziraphale for any signs that this was actually affecting him, perhaps catch the satisfying glimpse of a bulge in his trousers, anything that would relieve him from the burden of being the only one desperately aroused right now. Aziraphale’s hand on his back, however, made it clear that this was not within the angel’s plans. And his voice, while no longer tinged with rage, left no doubt that arging would not be tolerated. 

“Tell me what you want. Do you want me to fuck you right here? I could probably do it without exposing myself much at all. Just open my zipper and work a little miracle on my underwear, and slide right into you. Fuck you nice and slow until your knees give out. Is that what you’d like?”   
  
The image already had Crowley weak in the knees, and he whimpered into the crook of his arm, hot and soaked now with the exertion of not crying out loud at Aziraphale’s slaps. It was tempting, oh, so tempting, to simply give in to Aziraphale’s suggestions. Let him set the pace entirely, and see where this would lead them. But Crowley had been asked to say what was on his mind, and this had not been it. It took near Herculean effort to pull himself back from the brink of total submission, but Crowley managed to brace both of his hands against the bonnet of the car, and pant out a coherent reply. 

“No. I want - want you inside me, but not with all those people around. And I - want to look at you.” 

  
Earlier today, when he’d breezed into the bookshop, ready for trouble and a thorough fucking, he’d been prepared to be bent over the counter and close his eyes while Aziraphale took him on his lunch break. But now, after almost a full dinner’s worth of teasing and infuriating innuendos, he couldn’t wait to see his husband’s smug facade crack just a little, at least enough to show what kind of effect this game had on him. 

For now, Aziraphale just stepped back, and gave his back a light pat where he’d been previously holding Crowley down.    
  
“Alright then. Into the backseat, if you please. After me.”

Crowley stood up straight, his legs shaking under him. When he’d asked, he’d rather envisioned an incredibly fast drive back to his flat and to take it from there, but clearly Aziraphale had another idea. Crowley watched as Aziraphale climbed into the generous backseat of the Bentley and his wobbly legs, still bound with his trousers at his knees and his thighs sliding wetly together with his arousal, just managed to carry him behind Aziraphale, though with less grace then he might have wanted. 

Aziraphale was sitting with his back against the other door and there was just barely enough room for Crowley to climb over his legs, stumbling at a bit as his trousers slid further now to his ankles. His ass was burning with the marks Azirpahale had left and the angel was looking at him with a penetrating and predatory gaze. Crowley no sooner twisted to close the door before Aziraphale bodily pulled him onto his lap, his cloth covered erection pressing against Crowley’s damp thighs.    
  
“Hnnnn, Angel, I want you so much,” Crowley whined, grinding down onto Aziraphale’s erection, moving forward to entice Aziraphale to take him with teasing nips on his ears. 

But Azirpahale was in no mood for such pleasantries. He gripped hard into Crowley’s hair with one hand, unzipping his fly and just managing to slide his trousers down enough to coax his cock out of their courdurory and cotton prison. Crowley couldn’t see it, but could feel the slick precome on the head as it brushed against his thigh. 

“Tell me exactly what you want Crowley, don’t spare me a single detail,” Aziraphale said, still gripped into Crowley’s hair. 

  
Crowley pawed at Aziraphale’s chest, breathless and his mind melted to a puddle and desperate to feel his hot length slide inside him. 

“I want you to fuck me, hard. Take me and make me yours, make it hurt so good that I can’t walk straight tomorrow, bounce me on your cock like I’m your wanton little rag doll. I want you to come inside me, make a mess out of these leather seats,” Crowley breathed and his own words sent a deep blush to his ears as they came out. 

This seemed to satisfy Aziraphale, who let go of Crowley’s hair and instead gripped hard onto his hips, easily lifting Crowley just enough to plunge him down onto his cock with a solid, breathtaking slam. Crowley’s body curled forward at the roughness and possessiveness of it, despite being on top, he was entirely in Azirpahale’s control and it lit up every single nerve inside his body. He needed more of that. 

“Is that what you want?” Aziraphale asked in a voice far more cool and collected than the hot, thick length inside him let on. 

“Yes! Fuck, Angel!” Crowley whimpered and Aziraphale lifted Crowley so the entrance to his vagina just caught on the head of Aziraphale’s cock before driving roughly back into him. 

Crowley hands scrambled to find something to grip onto, settling on Aziraphale’s waistcoat, fingers gripping into the lapels, gasping as Azirpahale’s hands drifted from his hips to dig into the heated and sensitive pink skin of his ass. It sent Crowley reeling, the pain and pleasure melding together perfectly, making him mindless with desire. Aziraphale let go just long enough to land another firm smack there and Crowley gasped, eyes wide behind his glasses and he gripped harder to the lapels, certain the angel was going to send him spinning into space if he kept that up. 

Evidently, Aziraphale had realised that Crowley’s fashion choice had kept him from seeing him clearly at the moment, and nipped possessively at his ear while growling: “Take them off. I want to see you come apart in my hands.” 

Crowley didn’t need to be told twice. With shaking hands, he peeled off his glasses and tossed them into the driver’s seat, before leaning in to capture Aziraphale’s lips in a ravenous kiss. The angel’s hips stuttered for a moment, and he growled into the kiss, bit at Crowley’s lower lip with surprising force. 

“You’re bold, darling,” he chuckled when they finally parted, and for the first time since this escapade had started, Crowley could hear the exertion in his voice, see the slight rise and fall of his chest under clearly laboured breathing. He grinned at the sight, and even went so far as to grind down onto Aziraphale’s cock, relishing the burn of his abused backside against the angel’s thighs. It was only a brief interlude, though, before Aziraphale, once again, closed his hands around Crowley’s narrow hips, thumbs pressing firmly into the vulnerable flesh just underneath his hip bones. 

“And you know I love you for it, but for now, you’ve asked me to take you. And I intend to make good on that promise, so there’ll be no more bratty showiness out of you, are we clear?”   
  
Crowley swallowed thickly, and nodded his head. The gesture drew a satisfied smile from Aziraphale, who leaned in to place an almost chaste kiss on his neck, only to abruptly sink his teeth into the same spot.

“Open up for me, my dear, I’m going to have my fill of you, and you know how hungry I am. Especially when I’ve been interrupted with my dinner. “

  
Crowley cried out against the bite, the pain quickly bloomed to pleasure, another exquisitely radiating spot where Azirpahale had left his mark. His eyes now freed from the dark tint of the glasses, he could see the shimmer of sweat across Aziraphale’s brow and he delighted in the way the nearby shop lights bathed him in a veritable rainbow of artificial light. This was happening, they were in the back of the Bentley and Aziraphale was taking him in a way he’d only fantasized about. There was no softness or tenderness here, just pure physical need and Crowley melted against it, rolling his hips against Aziraphale, causing his thumbs to bite in deeper. 

“Yours, Aziraphale, all yours, take whatever you need, it’s yours,” Crowley simpered and relaxed his body further, allowing Aziraphale to fully seat himself inside him. The thick, hot length of him stretching him perfectly. 

Aziraphale pushed his powerful hips into Crowley, the thrust driving the head of his cock just in that place inside him, his walls clenching around in response. Crowley meweld and panted hotly in Aziraphale’s ear. 

“You’re so wet for me darling, you can be ever so good for me, when you want to,” Azirpahale said approvingly and it made Crowley preen at the praise. 

“I want to be so good, want to make you so happy, just for you Azirpahale,” Crowley cooed and was rewarded for his good behavior when Azirphale’s hand slid between them, the thick pad of his thumb spreading him wider, pressing against his clit and a sharp jolt coursed through Crowley at the touch.

“Oh there we are, you’ve been needing that, haven’t you? Do you think you’ve been good enough for more than just that?” Aziraphale asked and withdrew his thumb, causing Crowley to wail and rut against him. Aziraphale tsked.

“Angel, please! More,” Crowley begged and Aziraphale shook his head. 

“You have to learn to take what you’re given,” Aziraphale drove back up into Crowley hard enough his head hit the roof of the car and pulled him back down hard onto his cock, moving faster now, each thrust in wracking Crowley’s body. 

Aziraphale roughly pushed Crowley’s shirt under his chin, bent foward, and wrapped his plump lips around a swollen nipple, taking it into his mouth while maintining his relentless fucking into Crowley and he let out desparate, hungry cries. Each flick of the angel’s tongue sent liquid heat to Crowley’s groin and combined with the inhuman pace Aziraphale was setting, Crowley was beginning to see stars. 

“So good Angel, you’re fucking me so fucking good,” Crowley gapsed, his voice ragged. 

Aziraphale must have decided Crowley had behaved well enough, as that broad thumb was once again pressed against his throbbing and aching clit, rubbing torturously slow circles, a contrast to his pounding thrusts. Crowley’s head was spinning, his entire body lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Look at how pretty you are, you’re absolutely ruined for me. You’re just about as delicious as my dinner,” Aziraphale purred against his chest before his teeth closed around Crowley’s nipple.

“Hnaaarg, Angel, fuck,  _ fuck! _ ” 

The pain radiating straight through his chest, and driving hot spikes straight through his heart, was enough to send Crowley over the edge. He’d been waiting for his orgasm for so long that it gripped his entire body, his muscles tensing and flexing against the onslaught of it, thighs closing around Aziraphale’s padded hips and head thrown back as he came. 

He clenched tightly around Aziraphale’s cock, relishing the drag and thrust of it, and torn between shock and awe when he realised that his angel showed no signs of slowing down. If anything, Aziraphale seemed to pick up the pace as Crowley collapsed against his chest, and rutted into him at a maddening speed while his arms closed around Crowley’s waist. He was doing, Crowley noticed in his pleasure-drunk stupor, exactly what Crowley had asked him to: taking his pleasure roughly and without concern for decorum or even the devoted care he showed him most of the time. 

His body ached with the continued onslaught of thrusts, soft and fucked-out after his orgasm and so, so sensitive to every little sensation. Aziraphale, for his part, seemed intent to take full advantage of the fact, and moved his hands to cover Crowley’s shoulder blades, before slightly curving his fingers and digging them into his heated flesh.    
  
“I’m going to come, dear, are you ready for me? Going to fill you up so good, you’ll be dripping with me while you drive us home.”   
  
Crowley could only moan and nod in response, the image of his own thighs, already damp and sticky with his own juices, also drenched in Aziraphale - it was too damn tempting to allow for any verbal agreement, all he wanted, in this moment, was to become a vessel for Aziraphale’s lust.    
  


With a deep and low groan, Aziraphale became undone. Crowley watched with wonder as his face contorted in his orgasm, the way his eyes screwed up tightly and his mouth dropped open, that delicious pink tongue at the corner of his mouth as Aziraphale gasped and moaned through each pleasured pulse, shooting thick, hot streams of come inside Crowley, already beginning to seep out of him, mingling with the remains of his own orgasm.    
  
Crowley coaxed him through it, murmuring wordless encouragement, rolling his hips weakly as Aziraphale’s fingers dug deeper into the abused and stinging skin of his ass. At last, Aziraphale sagged against the door, sliding into a more reclined position and bundling Crowley into him, his fingers moving to trace delicate lines up Crowley’s spine, as if trying to memorise the shape and angle of every vertebrae. 

Crowley studied him, his face softening as the aftershocks of his orgasm trembled through his muscles and his blue eyes just cracking open to see Crowley’s looking at him, their noses just brushing together. Crowley cracked a smile at the sight and pushed his hands into the sweat-damp curls, pressing an altogether more tender and searching kiss against Aziraphale’s lips, who responded in kind, their tongues mingling slowly. 

Crowley could feel the hot, thick wetness leaking between his thighs as Aziraphale’s cock softened, a delightful and sordid reminder of what had just happened. He’d be in no rush to clean up this particular mess.

“That . . . . that was otherworldly my dear,” Aziraphale muttered, the sharp and dominating edge to his voice gone, back to it’s usual angelic sweetness, if a bit hoarse and ragged. 

“I’ve wanted you to do that for so long, Angel, take control of me, treat me like your toy,” Crowley murmured.

“Well, I’d ask you to not storm out of a perfectly good dinner to achieve it,” Aziraphale chided playfully and treated Crowley to a beaming, bright smile. 

“You mean you’d like to . . . um, do it again?” Crowley asked tentatively. It was everything he’d hoped for, even more than what his fevered masturbation sessions could have dreamed up, all that angelic resolve and strength was a heady and addictive drug and now that he’d tasted it, he was most certainly going to want more. 

“Of course my dear. You know me, I’ll never miss an opportunity to heighten our carnal experiences. You’re so very good, when you’re like that, it’s quite the rush, to see you laid before me so willingly. I’d be a fool to not want to see how deep that well goes,” Azirpahale said, an eagerness in his voice that surprised and delighted Crowley.

“Oh Angel, I think we’d both like to see how deep this well goes,” Crowley purred and wiggled his hips enticingly against Aziraphale, smearing more of their combined spend between their thighs. 

Aziraphale smacked him lightly on the bum, a promising sting radiating on the already sensitive skin. 

“Well, that’s settled then. Much more to explore. Though, you could be better at just asking, you silly fiend.”

“You enjoy the tease Angel, admit it.”

“My sweet, darling husband. You really thought  _ you  _ were teasing  _ me _ ? I’ve had you wound around my finger all day, had you dancing like a puppet on a string,” Aziraphale gave Crowley a deeply self-satisfied smirk. 

“You are an absolute bastard,” Crowley said with a laugh, pulling Aziraphale back in for another kiss. 

“And you love me for it.” 

Crowley laughed into their kiss, and snapped his fingers. The slight aroma of orange and soy sauce filled the air and mingled with the scents of their lovemaking, making Aziraphale perk up immediately. 

“I’m afraid I do, Angel. Too much to make you miss your dinner.”    
  
He leaned towards the front seat, and lifted a small package of containers, showing it to Aziraphale. 

“Leftovers, plus a generous serving of ice cream mochi. Let’s get you home, and you can have your second dinner, shall we?”

**Author's Note:**

> Want to comment, but not sure what to say?   
We welcome any kind of comment – short sentences or emojis as much as long lists of copied sentences you liked with or without your reaction, and of COURSE long rants or analyses on what you liked. Constructive criticism is also always appreciated!  
If you’re stuck on what to say, the Long Live Feedback comment builder is a neat tool. It exists as either a [Google sheet](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1lOqWGDNquHxr23l84ASKn-vdSLFrHop4giVOYDkKnWI/edit#gid=547831518) or an [excel sheet](https://onedrive.live.com/view.aspx?resid=5483CD320B0B1070!128&ithint=file%2cxlsx&authkey=!AH0iTc9X_UtUzCE), both of which help you generate comments that express what you liked about a story without you having to find or type the words. Comments can be customised or fully generated by the tool, and we promise, as your authors, we will love you for commenting more frequently!


End file.
